


What Isn't Silver

by Soulhearts



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Borderline Stockholm Syndrome, Dark Batman, Dissociation, Gen, Objectively Bad Parent Bruce Wayne, Obsessive Parenting, Overprotective, Parent Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulhearts/pseuds/Soulhearts
Summary: In the wake of Dick finding a beaten, broken and bloody Joker, the man responsible for the horrific crimes against the clown prince of crime has but one thing to say:"Don't worry, chum. I'm not going anywhere."
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 17
Kudos: 98





	What Isn't Silver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrincessMariana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMariana/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Into the Gilded Cage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206968) by [PrincessMariana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMariana/pseuds/PrincessMariana). 



> I fell in love with PrincessMariana's Dark-ish Batfam series. This particular work is the final scene (plus a little extra) from Into the Gilded Cage, but written from Bruce's perspective.
> 
> Thanks to PrincessMariana for inspiring this and allowing me to post it! ❤️

Bruce's knees hit the floor before he made the conscious decision to kneel. “You're going into shock,” he said, Batman's low growl scratching it's way up and out of his throat.

Dick was sitting across from him, knees drawn up, but not quite to his chest, arms out, elbows resting on knees, head back against the wall. It was Dick's eyes, though, that gave him away. They were blown wide, _too_ wide. There was something unseeing about him as he stared back, almost unblinking.

“Yeah,” he agreed, between one blink and the next. Bruce noted how shallow his son's breathing was. “Probably.” At least he was lucid enough to acknowledge that fact. It was worrying Bruce enough that he would have removed the cowl under any other circumstances, but he wouldn't. Not with The Joker in the other room. Right now, as much as Dick needed his father, Batman couldn't allow it. Still, Dick had always responded positively to touch.

The very moment Bruce decided to reach out, make a connection between himself and his son for the first time in three days, one that wasn't of a bruising grip around his wrist, Dick decided to speak again. Bruce's muscles immediately seized up.

“You should take me home,” he said, exhaling on a shuddered breath. It was clear that Dick was close to hyperventilating. The faint lucidity from earlier, or even perhaps ingrained meditation training, was the only thing forcing his breath to slow. “Before I get too scared of whatever sentence awaits me.”

The words caught Bruce by surprise, though in retrospect, they probably shouldn't have. There was a faint smile playing at Dick's lips, but it wasn't all there. Dick wasn't all there. Probably part of him still lost in his head, throwing up defences at what he'd witnessed. The cruelty of Bruce he had seen through the canvass that was The Joker. _Bruce didn't regret what he'd done, only that Dick had seen it for himself._

What kind of father was he? To allow his child to see something so brutal, so honest. _This would never happen again._ Bruce would keep Dick safe from now on.

The words were played off in passing. Like a joke, if Bruce hadn't known any better.

Dick was… _afraid._ Not the vague kind of fear that he had displayed in recent months, unable to escape Bruce for even a moment. Not scared with the simultaneous understanding that while Bruce would always be present, he would never actually _hurt_ Dick in any way. No. This was the real, solid kind of fear, striking up through Dick's dissociation like a viper trying unsuccessfully to pierce a veil.

The only thing holding his fear at bay, he realised, was the fact that Bruce had not ever shown this cruelty to Dick. If that was the saving grace, he would take it.

There would be a punishment, this was decided from the moment Dick had left, betraying both Tim and Bruce in the process, but Bruce would never be _cruel_ to his eldest son. And after it was over, Dick would understand why Bruce's hand had been forced. They would both forgive and forget this incident and move on.

“You apparently do punishment really well,” Dick added, almost as an after thought, a dark chuckle escaping him.

Again, he wanted to reach out, reassure. This child, _his child,_ was afraid. That was something he could fix. But Bruce stalled his own hand, a flare of hurt and anger flicking up his insides like a hot spark, igniting into flame.

“I would _never_ do that to _you,”_ he snarled, thinking of the broken and defeated and _insane_ man in the other room, and then involuntary imagining Dick in his same place. _Frightened beyond imagination of Bruce, scrambling back, throwing his arms up to protect himself, if only for a second longer, from the punishment._ He _never_ wanted to see that kind of true terror in Dick's eyes when he looked at Bruce. There wasn't anything Bruce wouldn't do to prevent that outcome.

“You're my son,” he continued, heated and fuelled by the horrible thought. “You―”

Dick interjected quickly, cutting in over the top, his breathing still ragged and his eyes still blown out wider than dinner plates. “Sorry,” he cut in, looking up at Bruce with that same sincere honesty he'd looked at Bruce with when he'd been but a young child. It dulled his rage somewhat. This was _Dick_. To be kept safe at all costs.

“I didn't mean it that way. I―,” he stopped, swallowed, and dragged a hand over his face, though Bruce didn't doubt Dick's hand likely felt foreign to him in that moment. It dropped away a second later. The apology was cool water over the heat in Bruce's chest, putting out the flames almost instantly. _“Fuck,”_ he swore, language that would have made it into Alfred's swear jar, but he could forgive the transgression, given the circumstances. “This is so messed up.”

No disagreement left his mouth. It probably was, to anyone else. To anyone normal. Bruce wasn't normal though. Instead, he changed tac, backtracking slightly.

“You should never be afraid of me,” he stated, calm and even. Dick's gaze turned slightly surprised. All Bruce wanted to do was pull his son into his arms and hold him close, cradle him to his chest and tell him everything would be alright. Because everything _would_ be alright, now that Bruce had found him again.

Dick, for several seconds, looked as though he wanted to say a great many things, but each time he bit his lip and held his tongue.

Finally, the young man dropped his stare to the ground, hand curling around his knee. Bruce waited patiently, but it was a long few minutes before his patience was rewarded.

“Take me home,” Dick managed, voice raspy. To Bruce it sounded like a plea. It soothed the wound struck into him the night Dick ran away. It placated the tiny, suppressed thought that Dick's unrestricted terror at what he'd done might turn into hatred. The begging quality to his tone allayed Bruce's own fears, and brought a tiny smile to his lips. He left it there to dance, soft and loving. Some of the tension in Dick's frame fled at the sight of it.

“I have a promise to keep,” he finished, looking drained and exhausted.

Finally, Bruce nodded, taking his chance.

With slow movements, he shuffled closer to his son, bringing gauntlet clad hands up to cup Dick's cheeks and run thumbs over cinnamon cheekbones. Next, he bent his head and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to his crown. When he finally pulled back again, his son gave a small smile in return.

Bruce helped him to his feet, the young man's knees wobbly like a newborn deer. It was cute, in its own way. Before Dick could think to take a step on his own, Bruce's decision was made.

In one swift movement, he knocked Dick's knees out from under him and hoisted him up, holding him to his chest so that Dick was forced to cling like a koala or else be dropped. There were no complaints though, the young man was too exhausted and too divorced from reality at present to put up any kind of fight at all. Legs came up to wrap around Bruce's mid-section, and arms hung loose over his shoulders. Dick wasn't light, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was no trouble for Bruce either.

It was easy to carry him out to the Batmobile and bundle him into the passenger seat. To strap his child in, because Dick was clearly far too out of it to be able to fend for himself at present. Bruce had him drink some water before he buckled himself in, worried about Dick's physical state as well as his mental.

The journey home was silent. Dick stared out the window at the bright lights of the city, but did not so much as breathe a word. Many a time Bruce thought he had perhaps fallen asleep, but each time he glanced over to check, Dick was still awake. Wide-eyed and unseeing.

The cave, when they finally pulled in, was the first thing to pull some kind of recognition out of Dick. It was faint and hardly noticeable, but it was there.

Bruce had to help Dick out of the car, and once again he hoisted Dick up, holding him close for the duration of the trip from the cave to his bedroom.

Tim stood quietly in the Batcave for the entire time, wringing his hands and looking nervous, like he expected Dick suddenly snap out of it and to yell at him or something. Tim needn't have worried.

Finally, Bruce laid Dick down in his own bed and pulled the covers up around his chin. Dick simply blinked back sleepily at him, looking lost and still dissociative. In his current state, he was loathe to leave his son alone even for the time it would take to change out of the Batsuit, but it had to be done. And he needed to make sure Tim went to bed also.

Unexpectedly, a hand darted out from between the covers, latching around Bruce's wrist, holding him in place.

“B?” he whimpered.

 _It was enough._ Bruce simply smiled and bent over to peck his son on the forehead.

“Do not worry, chum,” he returned, easing himself down onto the bed. Perhaps that could all wait. “I'm not going anywhere.”


End file.
